


Reverie Isle

by sigurfox



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Longing, Love, M/M, POV Mairon, Spiritual bond, not graphic, prose, spiritual lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/pseuds/sigurfox
Summary: Sometimes the honour of his new position felt like an exile. He recalled friendly beings, with whom he laboured; familiar wild faces he grew to love in the splendid caverns of Utumno; and, of course, he yearned for one particular image above all others.





	Reverie Isle

Strange, but even in the dead of the long northern winter it was never pitch-dark either inside or outside of the fortress. Ice and snow glittered like silver against the blackness, wherever an eye wandered. Stars were shining high above. Mesmerizing northern lights were dancing over the smoking volcanoes. Mairon cherished that rare clear days when the gloomy blue thunderclouds would part and the eternity would let itself be felt. The infinite province of the Lord of Light and Darkness.

 

Mairon wanted to hang somewhere in between the cold skylight and the fuming illumination of the stronghold, its many hot red eyes flickering among the black and white of the winter.

 

So he had to allow himself a luxury of peaceful solitude tonight. He lay atop one of the tallest towers growing out of a mountain peak. Thus he felt closer to the aurora, which of all the lights was the most precious to him. Here he thought he could reach out and paint his fingertips with its colourful flames, the magic Master put in it so that all His creatures across the north would rejoice in awe under it.

 

The clamor and the reek of the city’s constant fuss were now distant. The hum of the underworld was merely a ghost of the mighty pulsations…  His subordinate umaiar swarmed in the guts of the castle below, crawling through labyrinthine streets. While he was here, open to the great enormity of space in all directions.

 

Sometimes the honour of his new position felt like an exile. He recalled friendly beings, with whom he laboured; familiar wild faces he grew to love in the splendid caverns of Utumno; and, of course, he yearned for one particular image above all others.

 

When was the last time He had graced him with an audience, a praise, a kiss? In fair chambers, lit with glowing minerals or gigantic mushrooms, bonfires charged by magic. Fractal patterns of gemstones adorning the mirrorlike floor, perfect in their well thought out design. Its deliberate distortion as a glance went higher. The walls and the ceilings overgrown with spikes and irregular shards of crust sticking out everywhere, crystals, ore, roughly framed adamants... A true eden.

 

Mairon closed his eyes. He traced the shape of his own lips with his fingers.  _Melkor…_

 

Nobody had touched him in such a long time, and he was starved for it. He was becoming harsh, cruel. Like a once intricate tool, corroded now in disuse, no more fit for creating, but still good enough for killing.

 

There was no sound apart from the wails of the wind. Yet something like a whisper softly grazed his soul. He thought he might crumble down at this delicate brush of a caress. Forgetting the warmth of Almaren was easy. Posh ceremonies, brilliant festivities and celebrations of life, naïve cheerfulness... But he couldn’t stop craving love. 

 

Then suddenly he sensed his Lord’s acknowledgement, the wakefulness like a slow lightning. It electrified him. The pain of his isolation dulled and faded out, and he trembled. The presence, gossamer like a veil and grand like a monument, arose in his head and shrouded him in exquisite euphoria, always so – each time as if establishing their bond anew.

 

Communicating through this link and occupying the receiving end of the chain was like being held in the claws of a beast. The Constrainer’s attention was a cage. A tightness Mairon loved. The moment Melkor aimed His interest at him the thread that coupled them, a Vala and a maia, pulled taut. It was vibrating with each thought, each image coming up in fevered minds. Squirming on the hard cold concrete, Mairon pulled open his collar, undid the ties of his shirt, loosened the belt on his breeches and dipped his hand under.

 

Icy wind blew over him. His heated skin prickled with a thousand of needles. He let out a shaking sigh. He felt the shadow of Blackheart over his fana through his own touch, fingers combing through his hair and pulling slightly, then stroking his face. He threw back his head and brought his hand to his throat, and the maia’s palm sparked with the Vala’s sorcery. Before his mind-eye magnificent rooms emerged, the dome of Utumno halls stretched out above. There the tall figure in the golden crown and rich white furs stood over him.

 

Soon Mairon identified a tension that did not originate in his fana and the first jostles of delight that had no likeness in his own ёala. Impressive in its mighty physicality, a growing demanding want crept into him. His King replied to his lust and Mairon tasted it.

 

He ran his fingers over his body and his breathing grew shallow – he felt the Vala feed the pleasure to him. The Vala’s heart hammered on – and so did the maia’s. He stroked and teased himself following the will of the invisible force. Knowing His vile revelation – that He wanted it too, wanted a maia. Every nerve in his body echoed His elation.

 

Mairon’s whole fana ached. When Melkor reached His bliss, it was like a blow of a whip, lashing into Mairon’s ёala, agonizingly pleasant. Mairon jerked with an involuntary gasp – it was so good, _too good_. The keen bite of Master’s power was enough to rush forward the stream of his desire. It pulled him and the ache reached its peak. Waves of sensation carried him over the edge, as he stayed focused on the dominant consciousness the hundreds of leagues away from him, the shining bright thread tying them together in a dimension where they had no boundaries, no distances between them.

 

He found a desperate release, anxiously smothering his cry with a fist. Although there was no one to witness his disgrace but his Lord whose generous touch just liberated him from the nagging need.

 

He dared not moan His name. Mairon constantly hungered after his Vala and simultaneously feared that He would materialize before him. He knew that he shouldn’t have given in to this weakness, a vice that they shared, more than he already did.

 

Panting, he lay coming down from the heights of the wonderful tide. The languid haze covered him and made his body heavy, and he was grateful for it. And although he despised the intemperance worthy of punishment, right now he couldn’t help but smile. 

 

 


End file.
